Desperate Measures
by Thrice Written
Summary: De-anon from the kink meme. So what happens when you're the Student Council president, you're tired, and your gorgeous American boyfriend drops in to say hi? Why, you grab him and intercrural-sex him senseless against the wall, of course! Who cares if anyone can peek into your office at any moment and totally see the two of you going at it? UKUS. School AU. PWP.


**Desperate Measures**

UK x US

**R18**

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>:

Yup, this is a de-anon from the kink meme - my first one ever! :D

The prompt was for UK x US, with intercrural sex against a wall in a public/semi-public situation.

Bonuses: School AU (Gakuen Hetalia), them being loud and rough, and minimal removal of clothing.

Heh . . . yeah. Please excuse the god-awful title, and enjoy!

And, like always, Hetalia is not mine. ORZ

-x-x-x-

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><p><strong>Desperate Measures<strong>

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><p>Arthur Kirkland couldn't — for the <em>life<em> of him — remember why he'd ever wanted to be the president of the World Academy W Student Council.

He'd been stuck at school for the past hour and a half, drowning in club reinstatement forms, his wrist aching from what could very well be carpal tunnel syndrome as he signed off on one form after another. He was completely unaware that he'd begun muttering under his breath as he worked through the stack.

Checking off each club on a separate sheet as he came to its corresponding application, Arthur mused, "Gardening club, yes . . . chess club, yes . . . cooking club . . ." He glared down at the offending paper, which had been filled out by elegant, swirly, all-too-familiar script. "Damn frog, of course he would." He was sorely tempted to crumple it up and let the wastebasket have it (back when he was just a normal honors student, he'd accepted Francis's invitation to join the cooking club — only to nearly burn down half the building during one of his baking excursions. The French wanker had never let him live it down). But then he'd be violating the fairness rule, which would definitely give the principal a reason to kick his ass out of office. Much as he already wanted to resign, Arthur was _not_ about to let Francis be the reason for his downfall.

But that didn't mean it wasn't tempting.

Shoving the cooking club form aside to fume over later, the Brit moved on to the next one in the pile. When he saw the club description, his generous eyebrows rocketed up in disbelief. "A shotgun team?" he exclaimed. "A _shotgun_ team? Firearms are _not_ allowed on campus, and the safety and environmental hazards — who in the world would come up with — oh, of course, I should've known . . . who else but that Zwingli boy . . ." Arthur slammed the form down in the rejection folder, threw his pen down, and clutched his head in his hands. "Jesus Christ, are _all_ of the students here either maniacs or morons?" he lamented.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Arthur lifted his head and — without bothering to hide the exhaustion and irritation in his voice — called out, "Come in."

A tall, well-built young man sporting a bomber jacket, glasses, and dark blond hair burst into the room. He made a beeline toward Arthur's desk and slapped both of his hands down on top of it, grinning. "ARTIE! Dude! You won't believe what I just found out!" Energy buzzed around him in an invisible halo, accenting his excitement. "You know Elizaveta? Elizaveta Hédérvary? During practice today, Gil told me that she's —"

"— sexually involved with him. Yes, Alfred, good afternoon to you too." Massaging his temples, Arthur sank back into his padded swivel chair. It was a small mercy for someone who felt utterly burnt-out, but still a mercy nonetheless; at least it helped ease the ache in his lower back (was it just stress, or was he seriously coming down with arthritis?).

Alfred's bright face fell. "What? You already knew? But _how_?"

"Well," said Arthur dryly, "they've _only_ been shagging for two months. And it seems you're forgetting something important, love."

"What?"

Shaking his head, Arthur reached up and slid his hand beneath Alfred's jaw, gently guiding him downward. Alfred's eyelids lowered slightly as their faces grew closer. "I'm the president. I see and hear everything," said Arthur in what he hoped sounded like a deliberate purr. Normally he would have more confidence with this sort of teasing, but he was having trouble summoning it up. He was worn out after slogging through such a long day. But Alfred didn't seem to mind. His boyish grin returned and — conversation forgotten — he leaned in to humor his boyfriend with a light peck on the mouth.

The "light peck" rapidly evolved into an open-mouthed kiss, long and slow and sweet, which then turned into blatant making out as Arthur half-rose out of his seat, his hands winding in Alfred's hair. Alfred was reciprocating with equal warmth and enthusiasm; his fingers traced a hypnotic pattern across the back of Arthur's neck, a gesture that made Arthur sigh in content. As always, they both knew exactly what to do: Alfred busied himself with sucking at Arthur's lower lip while Arthur nipped Alfred softly with his teeth. Their tongues soon joined in on the action, and it wasn't long before they were moaning breathlessly into each other's mouths.

Lightheaded, Arthur murmured against Alfred's lips, "Wait, you left the door open."

"Don't care," replied Alfred, and he sucked at Arthur's tongue in a way that derailed the little coherent thought still remaining in the latter's brain.

It was starting to get uncomfortably hot in the room, Arthur mused. He wanted more contact; he wanted Alfred's hands on more places than just his neck. To relieve some of the pressure building up in his crotch, the Brit had begun unconsciously grinding against the edge of his desk, his hips meeting the mahogany in languid rolling motions. He wasn't aware of what he was doing until he heard Alfred chuckle.

"Heh, I always knew you got turned on by inanimate objects," he joked, letting his hand slide down Arthur's spine to his waist, where he dipped a few fingers under the school-issued blazer and sweater vest, searching for skin. Arthur blushed indignantly and began to protest, but was cut off as Alfred hummed a question against his throat. "Why do you always wear so many layers, darling?"

"It's the — ah! — the dress code. Which wouldn't be such an issue if you followed it as well — _oh_!" Arthur squirmed when he felt incisors on his neck. It stung only the tiniest bit, but left him with no doubt that he was being marked up.

A chuckle. "I think I'll pass. I don't like wearing ties." There was a rush of cold air as Alfred suddenly released him and moved away.

Disoriented and desperate for his touch, Arthur reached out for him. "Wait, where are you . . . ?"

He was met by a full embrace, one that he could feel down the whole length of his slim body, after Alfred stepped around to his side of the desk. "Sorry, I got sick of having that thing between us," Alfred breathed into his hair. "It's a lot better like this, right? Now you can rub against _me_instead of that lifeless block of wood, 'cause you know I'm so much better."

"Arrogant prat . . . Dear Lord, I just thought of an extremely cliched pun involving the word 'wood,'" Arthur said in a muffled voice, nestling his face into the hollow above Alfred's collarbone. He inhaled his Dove-soap scent and felt the heat between his legs increase.

"Yup, I knew you would. That's why I said it!"

"Cheeky little upstart."

"Grumpy old man," responded Alfred cheerily, before rocking his pelvis into Arthur's. The movement brought them back against the wall with Alfred using his height as an advantage, one arm braced around his lover's narrow waist while his free hand slid down to cup his backside.

Arthur felt like he was losing his mind. He and Alfred hadn't done anything sexual in several weeks (academics and extracurricular activities always seemed to get in the way), and right now he was being blown away by lust. He grabbed Alfred and yanked his head down for another sloppy kiss as they continued to press their groins together. He was burning up inside; he wanted _more_.

Then he glanced up at Alfred, and smirked deviously. The American's brow furrowed in confusion — a split second before Arthur's mouth sealed firmly over his again, everything blurring as the shorter teen manhandled the taller one into a position switch. Now _Alfred_ was the one with his back against the wall, gasping for breath.

Drawing back, Arthur smiled in triumph, proud that he was still able to wrestle his strong, athletic boyfriend into submission despite their difference in body size. "There, that's better." He turned Alfred around, prompting the young man to look quizzically over his shoulder.

"Arthur — what're you doing?"

"Showing you who's in charge, love." Oh God, he needed Alfred so badly that he was shaking. Making short work of his own belt and the fastenings on his pants, he pushed the edge of his boxers down and out of the way before reaching around and undoing Alfred's for him. Alfred seemed to take his loss of dominance in stride; his breathing hitched when Arthur brushed through his golden pubic hair to close a hand around his cock.

Then, sounding uncertain for the first time since they began, he panted, "No . . . the d-door's still open, someone could . . . _oh fuck_ . . ."

Unlike earlier, Arthur decided to be the one who didn't care. "Let them," he whispered, resting his chin on Alfred's shoulder to lick at the delicate cartilage of his ear (which he could just barely reach because of Alfred's superior height). "They wouldn't dare interrupt."

"We could get . . . get . . . reported, or — ah, ah —"

"Oh? I'd like to see who'd have the bollocks to do that." Unable to resist any longer, Arthur gripped Alfred's buttocks and spread them apart, revealing his small, pinkish entrance. He used his thumbs to stretch the hole and silently admired the view. How he wanted to just shove himself in, bury deep into that familiar tightness . . . despite the temptation, however, he knew anal would be too risky, especially since they were still at school. Arthur had to admit to himself that Alfred had raised a valid point. It would definitely be a problem if they were caught, and being caught would be inevitable if they went ahead with penetration (Alfred was notoriously loud when he bottomed, guaranteed to bring a classmate or teacher running to check on them). Arthur's hazy mind reasoned that if they went with an alternative, they wouldn't land themselves in trouble.

Well, all right, so they probably wouldn't get away _completely_ scot-free, but . . . oh, fuck it, he thought impatiently, and pulled Alfred's pants and boxers down his thighs, leaving them tangled above his knees, and maneuvered the American's legs together. Alfred caught on to the motion and said, with more than a little disappointment, "What, no sex?"

"This _is_ sex." Arthur grasped his own length right below the head and began to guide it forward, sighing as it was wedged between Alfred's warm, muscular thighs. "It's just . . . a different kind. Dammit . . ." He bit his lip at the incredible feeling that engulfed him, letting go of himself to reach around and massage Alfred.

Alfred leaned his forehead on his knuckles, steadying himself. "Dude," he gasped, "that feels good, but you know it's gonna chafe like hell later, right? Don't you have any lube?"

"Not with me. You can't honestly expect me to bring something like that to _school_, Alfred," said Arthur, his voice verging on a scold. He needed more breathing room; he loosened his tie and fumbled open a few shirt buttons at his throat.

"But it's gonna _hurt_ —"

"No, it's not. Stop complaining and grow a pair."

"I _do_ have a pair; you're touching it," Alfred grumbled. In retaliation, Arthur gave his balls another light squeeze — eliciting a moan from the taller student — and shunted his hips forward. He managed to hold back whatever noise was welling up in his throat, but Alfred keened shamelessly at the sensation of Arthur's cock rubbing the insides of his thighs. Determined to force that sound out of him again, Arthur thrust a second time, his heartbeat quickening when Alfred practically choked out his name and swayed backward to meet him halfway. Soon they had a steady, decent rhythm going, nice and drawn-out as Arthur lavished the nape of Alfred's exposed neck with kisses and licks, his fingers skillfully teasing his partner's shaft. Alfred had his eyes shut, reveling in the physical attention; his whimpers and cries grew louder with each swipe of Arthur's thumb.

Rubbing below the dip at the edge of the young man's pelvis and noting how smooth the skin there was, Arthur murmured, "Have you been shaving your legs?"

"Y-yeah . . ."

"Good. Keep doing it." He brought one of Alfred's broad hands to his mouth and bestowed a kiss upon each fingertip. He loved how Alfred shivered at the touch, loved the way his breath was coming in ragged snatches.

In all truthfulness, it was almost too much. A month of near-celibacy had made them both so horny that whatever good sense they possessed simply flew out the window. Forgetting all about the bloody door (which was _still_ open, of course, since neither of them had bothered to close it), Arthur began pumping himself harder between Alfred's legs, effectively slamming the American into the wall, cursing the layers of clothing separating them. He grabbed the back of the other teen's bomber jacket and yanked it up out of the way, together with his shirt. Then, in a motion that was rough but loving, Arthur ran his hand down the shallow valley between Alfred's love handles (something that always made Alfred self-conscious about his weight but oh God did Arthur think they were sexy) and pinched him right at the small of his back, where his flesh was just the right blend of firm and pudgy. Alfred yelped, sending sparks flickering across Arthur's vision as he clamped down even tighter around Arthur's dick.

Encouraged, Arthur twisted his fingers farther into Alfred's soft skin and relished the resulting whimper (and pressure). He would never, _ever_confess to it, but Alfred's "extra weight" turned him on beyond belief. Naturally, he loved the whole of Alfred's well-defined body, but there was something just unbelievably _captivating_ about the modest bit of plumpness that was ever-present around Alfred's hips, something that Arthur had difficulty pinning a reason to. He loosened his grip before he could make a bruise, but kept moving his lower half at a constant speed. Alfred gasped, "Baby, touch my cock again," and Arthur obeyed without even scowling at the pet name.

He was oblivious to the fact that if someone should pass by the room, they would be afforded a spectacular view of two male students — the Student Council president and the star of the football team, no less — rutting frantically against the wall like the apocalypse would descend on them in the next five minutes. But then again, even if he _had_ known that they were (indecently) on display, Arthur was too far gone to give a damn.

Pre-cum and sweat dampened Alfred's legs from his knees up. His skin was now slippery and malleable, contrasting the sturdy ridges of his muscles: an absolutely heavenly combination. His private worry that Alfred would be right about the chafing entirely erased, Arthur fancied the other could feel the intense, burning heat from his cock as he repeatedly thrust between his thighs. The thought was nearly enough to make him come.

He drove his body forward with the greatest force he'd used yet. Alfred let out a half-squeak, half-groan as his upper body was completely flattened between Arthur and solid brick. "Oh God, Artie," he panted, his face twisted awkwardly to the side to avoid getting his nose and glasses crushed. A bead of sweat slid down the contour of his flushed cheek; his ruffled, sandy-blond hair, darkened with perspiration, was plastered rather attractively to his forehead. Coupled with his hooded eyes, he looked deliciously breathtaking. The trembling in his thighs was nudging Arthur ever closer in the direction of his release, but the older teen wanted to hold on long enough to at least let his lover get off first.

Doubling his grip on Alfred's cock — and drawing a loud, desperate whine out of him — Arthur made an abrupt circular motion with his palm that applied pressure to both sides of the throbbing member in his hand. He was delighted when Alfred's knees buckled; from this new angle, he could rub the tip of his erection directly against the other's tender perineum, and proceeded to do so. Feverish grunts fell unchecked from his mouth as that familiar feeling began to uncoil low in his abdomen, prompting his hips to piston even faster.

Alfred was twitching uncontrollably beneath him. When Arthur upped the pace, he positively _screamed_ with pleasure. Arthur could imagine how good it would feel to have the sensitive stretch of skin between his balls and ass abused by his lover's dick; he rammed himself upward intentionally, needing to hear more of Alfred's reaction. Alfred didn't disappoint; he bucked against him and let out another shriek.

"Ah, _ah _— hnngh — oh shit — I'm gonna come," he fairly sobbed. "I'm gonna — _fuck_ —"

His fingers slick with Alfred's pre-spend, Arthur breathed in his ear, "Go ahead, love, come for me." Then, unable to hold himself back any longer, he bit down on the collar of Alfred's jacket. His orgasm hit him with the power of a riptide as he felt Alfred's warm seed splatter his palm. Christ, he was so hot, it felt like they were melting together like butter. He continued to jerk his now-sticky hand, milking the American for all he was worth, while Alfred's legs clenched around him in a similar gesture.

"God . . . _Arthur_!" Arching his spine into Arthur's chest, Alfred cried out as he shuddered through his climax, then let his whole body go limp. A mixture of their cum flowed down his inner thighs, snaking in rivulets and seeping into his boxers.

Coming down from his high, Arthur freed his teeth from Alfred's jacket (grimacing at the cottony taste left in his mouth), and they both slumped against the wall, too exhausted to hold themselves up properly. Alfred managed to twist himself around and they shared one weary, satisfied glance before melding their lips together.

Arthur's post-coital haze was rudely interrupted by a screech. He whipped his head around and froze, arms still around Alfred's waist.

Standing in the doorway, with an aghast expression on her face, was Angelíque. She held a bundle of manila envelopes (probably the material he'd asked her to drop off when she had the chance, Arthur thought in mild horror). And she was _staring_, her mouth hanging open like a fish's, an embarrassed apple-blush tinting her tan skin.

There was a few seconds of silence. "This isn't what it looks like!" Arthur said hastily at the same time Alfred groaned, "I _told_ you we should've closed the door." Angelíque simply kept gaping at them. Then she slowly backed away.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm obviously interrupting . . . something . . . so I'll just — I'll just leave now," she stammered, dropping the envelopes on the floor before turning and fleeing, her red-ribboned ponytails whipping out of sight.

Alfred stood up, cringing. "Crap, my knee's cramping," he said hoarsely. When it passed, he adjusted his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. His voice was still kind of scratchy when he remarked, "Uh . . . I think we kinda traumatized your secretary."

"Probably." Arthur wiped his hand with a tissue, straightened the rest of his clothes, and offered the tissue box to the other. Alfred grinned at him and, accepting it, began cleaning up the semen drying on his legs. When he was done, he fixed his pants (wincing a little, probably from the dampness in his underwear), then leaned over to give Arthur a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Arthur brushed him off, pretending to be annoyed, but knew that the redness warming his cheeks indicated otherwise. He went to retrieve the abandoned envelopes, saying distractedly, "I hope Angelíque has the sense to stay quiet. It would be quite troublesome if word was spread to the staff. . . ." He dropped them on his desk without sparing a glance.

Tossing out the dirty tissues, Alfred said cheerfully, "Well, it'd suck if she told _anyone_."

"True." Arthur shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms. "I would rather the rest of the student population not find out. As the president, my reputation and dignity are at stake. If Antonio or Gilbert hears of this . . . or _Francis_ . . ." He shuddered.

Alfred responded by first kissing one of his bushy eyebrows, then the other. "Stop worrying, babe. It'll be fine."

"That's easy for you to say. . . . Will you _please_ stop with the degradingly feminine nicknames?"

"No way, 'cause I know you love 'em and you call me a bunch of stuff too so we're even. And hey, have some faith in me! I'm not your hero for nothing, y'know."

Both comments made Arthur sputter, flustered. "_My_ hero?"

"Yup!" Alfred smiled happily. "No matter what happens, I'll _always_ be your hero! I'll protect you forever!"

Arthur stared at him for a heartbeat. Then, wagging his head, he finally let his face break into a smile, and the American found himself being tugged closer into a hug.

"You're so silly, love," Arthur said into his shoulder, still smiling. "But thank you all the same."

Beamng, Alfred kissed him one more time, this time on the mouth. "Love ya too."


End file.
